The Deling Alternative
by Don Seto
Summary: An unexpected tale of dark nights and desperate plots. The paranoid President survives the parade, and a storm is brewing for Sorceress Edea..
1. The Parade

The Deling Alternative

__

or

For All the Wrong Reasons

Chapter One – The Parade

The crowds had been gathering all day, everyone hoping to get a prime position from which to watch the festivities. Teams of discreet, highly efficient cleaners were making frequent patrols, but the streets were still littered with empty bottles and plastic wrappers. Every spare inch was packed with excited people, chatting and laughing. Some were crammed onto stoops or leaning out of upstairs windows, while others had taken blankets and picnic hampers up to the rooftops for a better view. The only empty space was the area cordoned off, a thick line down the centre of the road. Blue-clad security guards prowled back and forth between the ropes, glaring out at the crowds.

It was dark, now, and the guards were getting nervous. Their eyes raked the assembled people, searching for some lurking terrorist or lunatic. "There're too many people," muttered one of them. "This isn't safe."

"If the guy didn't go out of his way to piss people off, we wouldn't have to worry so much," a colleague answered sourly. "I've lost count of the number of rebel factions we're supposed to guard him against."

He couldn't have known that two of the rebels lurked in the crowd dozen paces away, waiting in silence for the main event to commence. Squall and Irvine were both absorbed with private worries, but they looked like nothing more than a pair of local boys out to enjoy the ceremony.

A short distance from the two SeeDs stood another knot of people with hidden motives. A man and a woman, both utterly unremarkable in appearance, flanked a third person. He was wrapped in a white greatcoat, with a tan fedora pulled down low over his brow. For some reason, the rest of the crowd was keeping its distance, allowing him breathing space. Perhaps it was something to do with the way the other two glared at anyone who came too close. For bland non-entities, they certainly had a knack for putting the fear of God into people.

A whisper spread through the crowd like wildfire. "It's starting…" A spell of feverish quiet descended on the street, as all eyes turned towards the Presidential Palace. Somewhere close by, puffs of magenta fire burst against the night sky, already crazy with hallucinogenic neon.

High above the waiting crowds, a group of figures stepped out onto the balcony. A resounding cheer rose from the street below. The man in the greatcoat wasn't cheering. He tilted back his hat and narrowed his dark eyes, staring upwards.

On the balcony, President Deling strode forwards, accompanied by Galbadia's newly appointed ambassador. The sorceress looked more beast than woman, adorned with golden talons and gauzy purple plumage. Although she was not alone, every eye in the crowd was drawn to her. She was an inhuman focus, drawing in energies. And yet she was just a woman. Wasn't she?

The man in the greatcoat felt an inexplicable surge of fear along his spine. He forced his body to remain perfectly still and not betray his unease. There was something deeply wrong. Something to do with the woman. Everything to do with the woman.

Around him, the applause was dying down, as the crowd waited to hear what their new ambassador would say. They were watching her with a curious hunger, as though she was the missing piece in the jigsaw puzzle of their souls. The man could almost see the great tide of power, flowing from the hearts of these people and into the vortex that was the sorceress. She seemed to be lit from within – an infernal glow, like the very fires of Hell.

The man felt the sudden surge of power, as the flowing streams became a tidal wave, crashing out across the packed city. He was frozen with terror, his mind screaming calamity.

And on the balcony, the sorceress murdered President Deling. His body flew in a long lazy arc, then skidded across the tiles like an ice-hockey puck. The corpse crumpled slightly as it smacked into the railings.

The man in the greatcoat doubled over, as though an invisible assailant had punched him in the gut. He was shaking like a washing machine, convulsing, unable to stop. He dry-retched again and again, his entire frame heaving. "Help," he said, but the cheers of the crowd swallowed his words. "Help me…"

Strong hands gripped his shoulders. The man's companions manhandled him through the crush, carrying him between them as though he was drunk, unable to walk under his own steam. They headed away from the palace, bulldozing a path with ruthless efficiency and speed. In their grasp, the man shook and heaved. His skin was deathly cold.

At last, they fought their way out of the press and into a dark street. The two bodyguards helped the man into the lobby of a shabby hotel, then hustled him straight into an elevator, ignoring an outraged cry from the receptionist.

When the elevator stopped, they carried the man to the nearest door and barged in. It was empty. They set him down on the bed, and watched as the tremors slowed and he gradually calmed down. His fedora had fallen off back in the crowds, exposing an ashen face and thin grey hair.

"Better now?" asked the male bodyguard, his accent strangled and guttural.

The man stared up at him, his eyes wide and vacant. "Yes," he said in a soft, cold voice. "It was just a magical backlash, I think. Combined with the shock of seeing…"

He closed his eyes, and then opened them again slowly. They glittered like blue ice.

"The shock of seeing her kill me," said President Vinzer Deling.


	2. Room Service

Chapter Two - Room Service

"Curtains, Cupid," Deling said quietly.

His male bodyguard obediently shuffled across the room to the grubby window overlooking an alleyway. He pulled the shutters across, dislodging several years growth of cobwebs, and then closed the faded floral curtains.

Someone began frantically knocking at the door. Deling gave it a cold, cautious stare. "Blitzen?"

The female bodyguard, Blitzen, strode to the door and yanked it open, then immediately grabbed the intruder by the throat. Blitzen held the trespasser up for Deling to see - it was the hotel receptionist who had been so outraged at their entrance. She was currently gasping like a goldfish.

"The mouth moves, but no sound comes out," Deling observed, watching her with interest. "Do you think it's a medical condition, Blitzen?"

"Medical condition of having my thumb in her windpipe, sah," Blitzen said promptly.

"Really?" Deling mused. "Fascinating. Well, put the silly thing down, will you? I'm sure she's harmless."

His bodyguard dropped the receptionist, who sat on the floor for a moment, rubbing her neck. With bizarre courage, the woman rose to her feet and confronted Deling. "Really!" she exclaimed shrilly. "You can't take rooms without paying, you know, you just can't…" The woman's voice seemed to tail off as she stared at the man on the bed. Her eyes shifted to his two bulky bodyguards. "I mean…"

Cupid lumbered towards her, cracking his knuckles meaningfully. "How's this sound?" he grunted. "You get out of here, right now, an' never tell anyone we was here, an' that way I won't be havin' to break your fool neck."

The receptionist's jaw trembled, and she backed out of the room without another word.

Blitzen closed and bolted the door, while Cupid propped Deling up with some pillows. He was still fragile and shaky. 

Deling glanced at the telephone. "Has anyone checked that for bugs?" When he received the affirmative, he continued. "Well, at least we're safe to talk." He paused for a second, collecting his thoughts. "I'm sorry," Deling began, "about Comet. But I'm sure you can appreciate that your compeer's death was a noble sacrifice. And you shall both have ample opportunity for revenge, I promise you. We shan't let that bitch get away with this…"

The two bodyguards saluted him loyally. Deling could see the anger burning in their eyes. They were the last two, he realised with a start. Comet was gone now, killed by the Sorceress, and Dasher had been the decoy with those brats from Timber. Prancer had been poisoned, and two of the others were killed when some lunatic blew up the presidential jet. Over the years, the Analogues, his most faithful allies, had been picked off. They had sacrificed themselves to save him. The VF project was almost over; Cupid and Blitzen were all that remained.

For some reason, Deling found himself feeling sad. What was wrong with him? He snapped out of it, annoyed at himself. He had to think about the present, not the past.

The Bitch-Sorceress would never have popular support; the people would not put up with her. They needed Vinzer Deling, the Lifelong President of Galbadia. There it was, the key word – 'lifelong'. Vinzer Deling was the supreme ruler of Galbadia, and would continue as such until someone killed him. Yes, the Sorceress would have to _really_ kill him, not just whack one of his Analogues. 

As for the immediate future… Given that the people would never accept the Sorceress, all Vinzer had to do was show his face at any police station or military base and they would take him to the palace and arrest her. It will be as simple as that, Deling thought, smiling with cold relish.

He was interrupted by someone banging on the door. Deling sighed and gestured to Blitzen to open it.

She obliged, and a big redheaded man burst in. He reeked of alcohol, and was staring at Deling and the Analogues with evident confusion. "Saaaay," he slurred. "Get the fooook out of my fooking room!"

Cupid and Blitzen both made moves towards him, but Deling shook his head slightly. He wasn't a total invalid, not yet. "I beg your pardon, is this your room?" he asked politely, swinging his legs off the bed.

"Yahhhh," said the drunk.

"Well, I'm using it now. Alright?"

The drunk considered this briefly and shook his head. "Naw, get the fook out…" He stumbled towards Deling, clearly intending to give him a helping hand out of the door.

Deling's hand twitched slightly. A pistol dropped out of his sleeve and into his grasp. He levelled it at the drunk's head and smiled sharkishly. "Listen up, sonny Jim," Deling hissed. "If your fat ass isn't out of this room by the time I count three, you'll have a third eye where your forehead used to be. Understand?" 

"Errrr…"

"And if you even _think_ of coming back here with friends, or police, I'll save my last bullet for you, chum. You can bet on that."

The drunk shot him a look of stupefied terror.

"One," Deling said in a loud, clear voice, sighting along the barrel of his pistol. "Two."

In a flash, the drunk leaped backwards and fled the room. They heard him crashing downstairs.

Deling grinned as he replaced the pistol in his sleeve. "I'm still the man."


	3. Listening

The sun shone brightly over Deling City, light flooding down between the tower blocks, illuminating ancient buildings gone to seed. It was a beautiful morning, and the city's namesake was up and about already, waiting at the side of a busy road, glaring at the cars as they roared past. They were obstructing him, their Lifelong President, in his mission. Damn them.

He jumped like a skittish horse when someone touched his hand. Deling relaxed slightly when he saw that it was just a little girl, probably five or six years old. Angelic blonde curls framed a thin, hungry face; the combination struck Vinzer as incongruous and oddly inappropriate.

"'Ello," the girl said cheerfully, holding onto Deling's hand like a limpet. "My name's Susan."

"Pleasure to meet you," Deling said distantly. Naïve little brat, he thought. When *I* was her age, I'd already cultivated a healthy dose of paranoia. Eh, children these days…

"I'm walkin' home," Susan announced. "Will you walk with me, mister?"

Deling rolled his eyes, already exasperated. "Where are your parents?"

"Mummy's at work, and Daddy's gone away. Do you know why he went away?"

"No," Vinzer said, searching hopefully for a break in the traffic.

Susan gave him a serious look. "It was very scary. Some bad men came to our house in the dark. Mummy made daddy hide, and the bad men looked for him but they didn't find him. So one of them took Mummy into the front room, and then one talked to me. He said he would give me a lollipop if I went with him. But then daddy came out and said to leave me alone, and they took him away. I never got a lollipop, neither."

"Mm," said Vinzer.

"Do you know why they took daddy, mister?"

Deling shrugged. "Because he was a felon?"

"Nahhh," Susan giggled. "Was because Daddy didn't like Mr President Smelling. That nasty Mr President wanted to talk to him, and then Daddy decided to leave for a while. I 'spect he'll come back now that President Smelling is gone. I miss him something awful, mister. Do you think he'll come home soon?"

"Probably," Vinzer said distantly. At last, the traffic paused long enough for him to hustle Susan across the road. He saluted her affably. "It's been nice to meet you."

"Yeah, see ya, mister," called Susan, wandering away.

Deling headed in the opposite direction, sighing with relief. *That* was why he didn't associate with the commons. They were all so self-obsessed, always with some tiresome hard-luck story to tell. Vinzer had problems enough of his own without being burdened with everyone else's.

---

The ceiling fan swung along a slow, lazy arc like a tired racehorse, mingling the aromas of coffee and sweat with the draft of petroleum freshness drifting in through the door. Piles of paper on the desk ruffled periodically, displaying grainy mugshots and heavy columns of type. Grand Street police station was operating on a skeleton staff, as most of the staff had been called to the Presidential Palace for a security briefing. A portly sergeant and a younger cop were in back, sipping from mugs and talking quietly. On a prickly horsehair couch in the lobby, waiting with unaccustomed patience, was Vinzer Deling.

Snatches of conversation wafted through to him from the two policemen, and Deling listened vigilantly. The moral implications of eavesdropping didn't concern him. Bugs and other 'listening devices' had been invaluable to him over the years. Other people's conversations could prove most illuminating to a man who prized information.

"You want this last donut?" asked the sergeant, his accent revealing him as a Deling City native. Apparently he didn't wait for the young man to reply, because Deling could clearly hear munching noises.

The other cop said something too quietly for Vinzer to hear, then continued, "What's with the old guy in the lobby?"

"How should I know?" the sergeant demanded through a mouthful of donut. "Why don't you go ask him, Pete?"

"Ask him yourself," Pete drawled.

Deling frowned. Such a lack of respect when addressing a superior officer – it was quite unacceptable. Still, what could you expect from a boy who talked like one of the Traitor's bunch from FH?

"Smart ass," said the sergeant. "Nah, we'll let him cool his heels a while." They were quiet for a minute, and then the sergeant continued. "Say, did that guy look familiar to you?"

Pete paused, then said, "Like the late, not-so-lamented president?"

"Yeah, I thought so too. Well, that's rather weird…"

"He's probably here to report his murder," Pete said, a smirk evident in his tone. "Actually, boss, they do say that everyone has an exact double somewhere."

(I have eight, actually, thought Deling. Except now there's only two.)

The sergeant hesitated before speaking. He sounded thoughtful. "Yeah, but what if… What if this guy is Deling's brother or something? He might be looking to cause trouble."

"Think we oughta lock him up, just in case?" asked Pete, sounding quite chipper at the idea.

"The Sorceress would probably be grateful, wouldn't she?" mused the sergeant. "Okay, then, not like we've got anything to lose. Follow me," he instructed, striding into the lobby.

No one was there.


End file.
